


raise up to your ability

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, this is basically crack, this is jemma-loving propaganda CRACK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma joins the Avengers. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raise up to your ability

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place somewhere in the undetermined future, with some background established Fitzsimmons. 
> 
> This is basically a madhouse. Be warned.

 

When Jemma returns to Stark Tower atop Captain America’s shoulders, wearing a black mask and a leather jacket and holding Thor’s hammer; with The Hulk – not Bruce Banner, _The Hulk_ – on one side of them, carrying the aforementioned unconscious Asgardian; and Iron Man, Black Widow, and Hawkeye bickering on the other side; well, she does not expect to see her team waiting for her.

Looking quite angry.

“Did you think this is what I meant when I said _be good_?” Coulson shrieks.

Eyes wide, Steve sets her gently back down on the ground.       

 

 

 

 

“I’m just anxious about you leaving,” Fitz says eight weeks before. Again, he means. He’s anxious about her leaving _again_. He’s got that earnest face on that he always does when they talk about something serious, and she wants to melt onto the ground.

“It’s not going to be like last time. I’m not undercover, so we can talk whenever we want. And they said they only need me for a few weeks.”

“You’ll be careful, though, right?”

“You sound like me,” she teases.

“Answer the bloody question.”

“You know I’m going to be in a lab the entire time, right?”

“Like that’s stopped you from getting up to trouble thus far.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Just promise, please. You seem to attract danger.”

“Ooh,” she says, moving in close to wrap her arms around his neck. “I’m cool then?”

“Did the word _cool_ come out of my mouth? You’re just a magnet for bad situations.”

“Bad like, Michael Jackson Bad? Like I’m so cool because I’m so bad?” He starts to speak again but she cuts him off: “Do you know how many leather jackets I own?”

“One.”

“It’s two now,” she says. “May gave me one of hers. I thought she was just forgetting it in my room over and over again, but then I realized thanks to context clues and a helpful note that she wanted me to keep it. Therefore, I am cool.”

“Jesus christ.”

“Cool as _ice_.”

“You know how everyone thinks between the two of us that I’m the bigger dork?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s definitely never been true.”

“But?”

“But I like it,” he mumbles.

She smiles wide, leans in to kiss him slow.

“You didn’t promise,” he says after they pull away.

She rolls her eyes. “I promise.”

 

 

 

 

(“We need to get her a catsuit,” Clint says. Natasha shoots him a look. “I’m not trying to be gross, I’m not. But if she’s joining the Avengers, she needs a uniform. Your sweaters and sneaks aren’t going to cut it, girly girl.”

“I’m not joining the Avengers,” Jemma says automatically.

“Uh huh,” Clint says, and then he goes back to discussing leather with Natasha.)

 

 

 

 

A pair of robots take her luggage away, and a disembodied voice directs her to the elevator.

“You’re one of May’s, so you can call me Natasha.” The Black Widow—Agent Romanoff— _Natasha_ greets her as she is let out into the penthouse of Stark Tower. The floor is wide open and modern and industrial and gorgeous and _is she really meant to be here_? Because this feels like a place she’s not meant to be.

“Oh! Well. Then you can call me Jemma.”

Natasha smiles, sitting down on a large couch. “May’s told me a lot about you, actually.”

Jemma perches next to her carefully. “Good things, I hope?”

“Especially good. May doesn’t like most people.”

“May hates me,” Clint Barton, who had appeared to be asleep next to Natasha, says, sitting up. “Hi.” He offers a hand. “I’m Clint.”

Jemma knows who Clint Barton is. Jemma has actually met Clint Barton once before, because sometimes they make the students taking biomed courses work triage after important and/or highly destructive ops. And Clint Barton tends to get injured a lot. So amidst the chaos after a bad raid, Jemma, nineteen and panicking, stuck Clint too hard with a needle trying to give him a butterfly stitch-up and left him a small scar.

She would say she hopes he doesn’t remember, except she also gave him an alarming amount of morphine. So she knows he doesn’t.

“Jemma,” she says weakly, taking his hand.

“May loves me,” Natasha says. “SHIELD women take care of their own. Which means, I’m on you, kid.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised.

“She says I should keep an eye on you. Are you going to make trouble?”

Jemma grimaces. “I’m under strict orders by nearly everyone on my team to behave.”

“Coulson's a stickler,” Clint says.

“I'm _very_ well-behaved. I don't know why he thought it was necessary.”

“Because he's a chronic worrier,” Natasha smirks.

 

 

 

 

(“You should’ve seen her, Phil,” Tony is saying. As usual, he’s making things worse. “Just slammed the fucker right in the face with the Hammer. It was truly and profoundly badass.”

Phil gives her a long, disappointed glare.)

 

 

 

 

Dr. Banner is the one that needs her help (and she is so bloody pleased that that is a thing that is now possible), so Natasha leads Jemma down to the lab she'll be using, which is right next to his.

The lab is glistening and full of toys that haven't hit the market yet and she almost orgasms-faints-dies.

Fitz is going to be _so_ jealous.

Dr. Banner himself is kindly and adorable. He’s also two IQ points short of her. (What? She does her research.)

He’s a brilliant and vast mind, which is what she expected. What she doesn’t expect is Tony Stark.

Which is rather dim on her part.

“Simmons, is it?” Tony says, appearing out of nowhere, tapping away on a tablet.

She startles. “Yes, sir. Jemma Simmons.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

Bruce cuts in: “She wrote the paper I sent you a few weeks ago on—”

“No, that’s definitely not it,” Tony interrupts, and now he’s actually stopped looking at the screen and looks over at her, squinting. “Have we met?”

“Um,” she says.

“Oh, god,” Bruce mutters, clearly horrified on behalf of a younger, more impressionable version of Jemma.

“We have!” Tony exclaims. “You and your partner gave a speech at some conference or something! What’s his name, the kid?”

“Fitz?” Jemma says.

“Fitz!” Tony repeats. “They call you Fitzsimmons!”

Jemma, a little stunned, says nothing.

“Is no one impressed that I remembered that?” Tony asks the room.

“Very proud, sir,” JARVIS says from overhead.

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“We didn’t really meet though, sir,” Jemma says. “Although your speech was rather…interesting.”

“Was it?” He asks. “I apologize.”

Bruce shakes his head, smiling.

Tony offers his hand, so she shakes it. “Coulson speaks very highly of you. He just called a few minutes ago to tell me that you have a boyfriend, you aren’t allowed to drink, and that you’re smarter than me.”

Jemma nearly rolls her eyes. “Well, two of those things are true.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Actually, I meant that I’m definitely good to drink.”

Bruce actually laughs now, and Jemma finds she rather likes it. It feels like an accomplishment.

 

 

 

 

(“If you have any questions,” Bruce says, somehow looking up at her despite the inches he has on her. “About my condition, you’re more than welcome to ask.”

“Naturally I have about a million and a half,” she says, with a huff of a laugh, and he smiles a bit. “But I think Fitz will kill me if I don’t ask just one.”

“And what’s that?”

“If the rest of your clothes shred when you transform, _how_ do you keep your shorts on?”

He smiles. “Super-stretch material. Tony designed them. I’ll get you the specs; you can give them to Fitz for Christmas, if you like.”

“You joke, but he would actually love that.”)

 

 

 

 

The dinner table, to which she was immediately invited, is being set by Captain America.

She cocks her head. He is not humanly possible, all broad shoulders and narrow hips and a face you could still bring home to your mother. Not humanly possible at all, which the serum accounts for. She’s one of the few scientists in the world who’s gotten up close and personal with Centipede’s variation on it.

“Steve,” Natasha says. “This is Jemma Simmons, she’s—”

“The SHIELD scientist.” He offers his hand. “One of Coulson’s people, right?”

“Yes. It’s a pleasure, Captain Rogers.”

He seems to freeze for a moment, but he lets her hand go and offers her a soft smile. “So, where are you from?”

“Sheffield, England.”

“I had a friend from London, back… _before_.”

She nods a little, unsure of how to say it. “I know, um. She’s my hero,” she says. She has such a strong urge to be gentle with him.

His mouth opens. And closes. He gives her a nod, a little bashful. “She’s my hero, too.”

He smiles at her, shows her to the table and pulls out her chair.

 

 

 

 

(“Anything exciting happen today?”

“There was a new scientist joining Banner and Stark in the lab today. Perhaps you know her, Jane.”

“Oh, I don’t know every scientist in New York, Thor. Just the excellent ones.”

“Of course. Well, Dr. Simmons helped Dr. Banner make his delicious paella for us tonight and—”

“ _Did you just say Dr. Simmons_?”

“Ah, so you do know her. Splendid.”

“I’m coming over!” Jane shrieks through the screen.)

 

 

 

 

“So Coulson’s doing alright, then?” Clint asks over dinner.

“Yes, he’s fine. I mean, being Director is quite a stressful job. I’m a bit worried about his blood pressure. But he’s well.”

“And his brush with alien life is over, right?” Tony breaks in.

“I wouldn’t say _over._ His health is under control. But alien life is sort of part of all of our lives, now that we’re sure about Skye.”

Coulson had briefed the Avengers when the team had gotten a little too close to a proper, non-Asgardian alien visit a while back.

“How’s Ward?” Natasha asks.

“He’s a lot better.”

“And Bobbi?”

“Perfect, as usual.”

“I’d like to meet the rest of Coulson’s team,” Thor says. “He has such lively stories about you all.”

“I know they’d all really like to meet you too,” Jemma responds. “ _Really_.”

 

 

 

 

(“Doctor,” Thor greets her as she enters the lounge. “Would you like to take a selfie?”

“That’s his new thing,” Clint calls from the opposite couch.

“People often ask,” Thor says, with something akin to a shrug. “It seems simpler to be proactive.”

“I’d love to take a selfie,” she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“Will you send it to Philip?” he asks. “I was saddened to hear he was not able to come with you.”

“Of course, yeah, I’ll send it to the team. I imagine they’ll have quite a strong reaction.”

If Jemma’s face is a tiny bit smug in the photo, well, that’s because she knows Skye is going to lose her mind.)

 

 

 

 

Apparently the Avengers quite often hang out together and drink. Jemma wouldn’t have thought it so, but every team needs its bonding rituals.

They invite her along every time, and as the weeks have gone on she’s gotten more and more comfortable. For example, at the moment she’s quite tipsily explaining to Natasha the advances she and Bruce made on their rather complex gifteds problem in Latin. Nat’s taking it in stride.

The rest of the team is being their merry selves, although most of them are on their first drink. But they seem unsurprised a moment later at the noise. Jemma startles at JARVIS’ voice, louder than usual because of the message. The Avengers are needed. Someone evil is staging an attack. As usual.

But then starts the scramble, the fury of which Jemma is certainly not prepared for. Natasha leaps over the couch to run and suit up; Clint’s already got his quiver in hand as a panel ascends from the ground with various bows and arrows that he’s choosing carefully; Tony has called the suit to him, flying in and encompassing him in a matter of seconds; and while Steve has stepped behind a screen to don his uniform, the shink of his shield sliding into place on his back is unmistakable. Bruce, interestingly, is very quietly disrobing, gently folding his clothes and setting them aside, which Jemma tries not to pay too much attention to. And Thor is pulling on his cape. His. _Cape_. All the while, JARVIS is loudly commanding things about HUD systems and weather patterns and weapons-upgrading and foreign dignitaries and apparently the President is on the phone for Steve and Thor is calling for Mjölnir but it’s right by Jemma’s feet so to feel useful she picks it up and hands it to him.

The room stops dead.

Even JARVIS stops talking.

She peeks at Thor, and all expression has dropped off his face.

“Oh, sorry!” she says, face twisting anxiously. “Was I not supposed to touch it?”

There is a long moment of silence and Jemma waits, terrified. Goodness, Coulson will _kill_ her if she pissed off the Avengers.

“ _Captain Rogers, the President is still waiting on the line. Shall I take a message_?”

Everyone ignores him.

“You have achieved something quite awe-striking, little one,” Thor breathes.

“Sorry?”

“We can talk about it when we get back,” Steve says, trying to get everyone back to the task at hand. “Move out, Avengers.” Suddenly everything is in motion around her again.

Jemma catches Natasha and Clint before they can leave though. “Am I in trouble?” she whispers.

They share a look, amused.

“Kid,” Clint says, “You’re about to be a fucking legend.”

And they’re gone.

That did _not_ answer her question.

  
  


(“JARVIS? Am I in trouble?”

“ _I couldn’t say, Dr. Simmons. However, Asgardian succession treatises suggest you are now 14th in line to the throne_.”

“The _what_?”)

  


 

She wakes to find Natasha standing over her bed.

“You didn’t wait up for us last night.”

She doesn’t sound mad. But Jemma can’t _really_ tell.

“I panicked so much my brain shut down and I fell asleep. Plus I had a bit of a headache.”

“There’s no need to panic, Jemma. Everything’s fine.”

Jemma relaxes slightly.

“I didn’t just offend an Asgardian king, then?”

“No, you just knocked him off his feet a little.”

“I don’t understand.”

“ _Whosoever holds the hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._ ”

Jemma stares. “I still don’t understand.”

“Here, put this on.” Natasha tosses her what seems to be a biometric suit. “We’ve got work to do.”

“I’m supposed to meet Dr. Banner in the lab—”

“He understands,” Nat tosses over her shoulder. “Trust me.”

 

 

 

 

(They’re all on the screen. The whole team. Jemma’s been giving them a status report.

“Is there anything else you want to add?” Coulson asks. “Everything’s going alright with the Avengers?”

Jemma pauses. “I think they want me to _be_ an Avenger.”

The entire team laughs.

“Not joking.”

“Very funny, Simmons. Talk soon,” Coulson says, and they click off.

Well, she tried to warn them.)

 

 

 

 

Thor watches her as she enters, almost bashful. “Good morning, princess. Would you like breakfast before we begin?”

“Did he just call me _princess_?” Jemma mutters to Natasha.

The Avengers, as Natasha goes to join them, are standing in a half-moon before her. Maria Hill is also here, interestingly enough. They are all regarding her a little too fondly. The biometric suit feels too tight.

“ _What_ is happening?” Jemma says.

“Listen up, Doogie Howser, PhD,” Tony says. “Nobody’s supposed to be able to pick up the Hammer except for Thor, and whoever the Hammer deems ‘worthy.’ Last night, the Hammer chose you.”

“I was just trying to help?”

“It’s quite alright, little one,” Thor says. “I was taken aback, as I had never truly considered the possibility that a Midgardian might be able to hold Mjölnir as I do. But if it has spoken for you, you are worthy.”

She stares.

“Try again, Jemma,” Steve says. “Pick it up.” Her eyes slide down to where Mjölnir rests on the floor between them.

Her eyes flit up to the Captain’s, and he nods. So she walks forward and picks it up again.

There is a long pause.

“Is this some sort of elaborate hazing?”

“Simmons,” Hill says, approaching her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “This is really happening.”

Her eyes widen, and she puts the Hammer down quickly. “Somebody else pick it up.”

“No one else can.”

“There is no rational, _scientific_ explanation for this!” She heaves. “So, somebody else try and pick it up!”

Tony steps forward, pulls and pulls. Then Steve. His muscles bunch. A sweat breaks out on his brow.

Thor steps forward now, open his hand so that Mjölnir flies up to him.

“Okay,” she starts babbling instantly. “Okay, okay-okay. But there has to be an explanation.”

“The enchantment—”

“ _Scientific!_ A _scientific_ explanation.”

“This is going to be a long day,” Maria sighs.

 

 

 

 

(“Do you ever take that jacket off?” Maria asks.

Jemma pulls it tighter around her, frowning. “It’s May’s. It makes me feel safe. Not to mention the fact that it looks good on me.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nat says.)

 

 

 

 

Jemma’s protesting continuously falls on deaf ears; and Hill makes a crack or two about how May has probably gone soft if _that_ is the form she taught Jemma to shoot with. So Jemma squares her shoulders.

It must be quite a sight: Hill on one side of her, Natasha on the other. The three of them shooting at moving targets in a vast proto-landscape that Tony has to replace every two weeks. Jemma’s gotten a lot better since she first started going into the field. She had to get better. But Hill and Romanoff are intent on getting her up to their speed.

Bruce is tapping away at his tablet, ears muffled to the sound. “Your heart-rate was less, uh, terrified, that time!” He shouts.

She smiles weakly at him. He and Tony had been following her around with tablets and sensors and other gadgets (“A Geiger counter, really? _Really_?”) for the past _two weeks_. Plus all of the stress tests and blood samples and running and weight training and a quite terrifying psych eval. She assumed it was because they are as eager as she is to figure out how Mjölnir would cooperate with some and not others. Enchantment her arse.

“May I ask a question?” Jemma says, panting.

“Shoot,” Hill says.

“Do May and Coulson know about this?”

“They know that we’re giving you a little extra training when you’re not working on the gifted problem with Dr. Banner.”

“But they don’t know why.”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t call this a little extra training, by the way.”

“That’s because you’re a Sci-Tech baby,” Hill grins.

“Oh, would you like to tell me again about how in Operations you fought bears before breakfast, or whatever it is—”

“Don’t talk back, short stuff, or I’ll make you do push-ups.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

 

 

 

 

(“You were supposed to come back weeks ago.” He’s not accusing, but he is pouting a little.

“I know.” She rests her head against her shoulder. “A lot of weird things are happening here.”

“Weird like dangerous? Or weird like you need our help?” Fitz asks. “Because if you need our help we could come and visit.”

She smiles. “I’d like that, but I think you all have enough to work on.”

“Yeah, but. Not more important than you. Than what you’re working on.”

“I think Coulson would disagree.”

“Ehh. He was pissed last week cos he caught Skye and Trip and Ward playing strip poker again, and he started yelling about how his only reasonable agent left him for the superheroes.”

She laughs.)

 

 

 

 

Her training with Thor is…interesting. To say the least.

They train on the roof, which has been modified to keep them safe in case they tip over the edge. The thought of falling doesn’t make Jemma nervous at all. Not at all. But Tony very gently explained the specs for the force field anyway.

Thor says it must be on the roof in case she generates any lightning, which she assumes to be a joke.

Until.

Well, it starts like this:

A history lesson about Mjölnir’s origins that Jemma both comprehends fully and rejects entirely. Then a bit of showing off from Thor as he flies around and pummels the shit out of some dummies, which Jemma finds pretty entertaining. A long introspection over snacks about what it feels like to wield the Hammer, to have it come to you with only a hint of willpower, to have it work for you in your name and in your goodness. And then he hands it off to her.

“I must admit, little princess, it took some time to feel comfortable with the idea that someone else could take my place. But I feel confident that Mjölnir has chosen well.”

She steadies her grip on the handle. “That’s very nice, but you don’t have to worry, Thor. I’m quite certain there will never been a time where I’ll need to step in on your behalf.”

He ignores this. “Raise your arm,” he directs. “Breathe deeply. Can you feel it start to hum?”

Her eyes are closed. Her expression falls serious. She can. She can feel something.

“Let the skies know what you desire.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“Power.”

She does.

And that’s how the power grid for Stark Tower gets overloaded. The tower is dark for six hours. Tony makes fun of her for seven.

 

 

 

 

(“Steve, I don’t even remember what I originally came here to do!” Jemma argues.

He gives her a look. “Yes, you do.”

“Yes, I _do_.” She rolls her eyes at him a little. “But I finished my work weeks ago. I’m still here because you all asked me to stay. I don’t mind helping out, really, but I don’t know what this is really achieving.”

“Listen, I’m sorry all of this has gotten a little crazy. Trust me, I know what it’s like to volunteer for one thing and get sucked into something a lot weirder. I think we’re all just excited. You are something unprecedented, for us. For Thor especially.”

“I can’t join the Avengers, Steve. I can’t even believe you’re asking.”

“I think that’s actually a requirement for entry. We were all dragged onto this team kicking and screaming.” He gives her a smile.

“I don’t have superpowers. I don’t have years of training or experience or any skill or tech suited to this life.”

“You can pick up the Hammer.”

“But I can’t wield it.”

“We’ll see about that.” He gives her the _cheekiest_ grin. Her jaw drops. How very un-Captain America. How very Steve.

“I sincerely hope we _don’t_.”

He takes a long pull off his drink. “I just think you’re made of special stuff, Agent Simmons.” And suddenly his sweet eyes are back. Quite deliberately.

“Oh, bugger _off_.”

He laughs.)

 

 

 

 

They’re sitting around again. It’s midday, so they’re not drinking, but Jemma’s sore as hell from yesterday’s workout, and Nat is trying to convince her to go for an ice bath.

But that’s when they get the alert. JARVIS again, booming out over them as they’re called to action. Jemma’s a little more used to it by now, so she stays still.

“You coming with us, Jem?” Clint says as he slips his shades over his head.

“Funny,” she says.

“It won’t be long now,” he teases.

And then they’re gone.

Jemma asks JARVIS to let her listen to the fight, just in case. She knows they have super powers and a lot of experience at this, but she worries. Mostly it’s a lot of shouted orders, gunshots, and grunting.

Until: “Thor is down, _I repeat_ , Thor is _down_.”

She stands.

It’s Steve, talking. “He’s not breathing.”

“What happened?” Tony is asking sharply.

“They zapped him with something, I don’t know.”

“Wait!” Jemma shrieks. “I’ve revived an Asgardian before! JARVIS, tell them!”

JARVIS opens up a communication line, offering her an earpiece from the weapons panel. “You’ve done _what_ now?” Tony says.

“I’ve revived an Asgardian before.” She’s explaining the process when Iron Man crashes through the window, sweeps her up and flies her out. He ignores her frantic screaming and sets her on the ground, in the middle of war-torn Manhattan and three feet away from Thor, lying unconscious on the pavement.

“What the hell!” She shrieks at him.

“Fix him!” Tony shouts, and he’s gone.

Cap’s keeling next to him on the ground, so he motions for Jemma to come over and take a look at him.

He’s isn’t breathing, not really, he’s sort of wheezing helplessly, and once again she’s going to have to improvise (although thankfully there isn’t a gaping chest wound for her to stick her hand into). She starts chest compressions and employs some rather unscientific stabs in the dark, and she seems to dislodge something, because he coughs violently. But he’s still unconscious.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” she tells Steve. “But I can’t know for sure until we get him back to the Tower.”

“At least he’s breathing,” Steve says, and he turns to call for the Hulk. “Take Thor somewhere safe for now. He’s okay, but you’ll have to be gentle. Then go back to the fight.”

It’s fascinating, the way the Hulk responds, with a nod and a noise of understanding, as he gathers Thor up and clambers away to store him somewhere.

“Now what?” Jemma asks, feeling very exposed despite the fact that Steve is standing there with his shield.

“Pick up the Hammer, Jemma,” Natasha says suddenly in Jemma’s ear. She rolls gymnastically into sight a second later, fires over Jemma and Steve’s heads and then looks at her again. “Pick up the Hammer.”

“Are you bloody joking?”

“Does it look like I’m joking, kid?”

“I can’t—”

But suddenly the Hammer is in her hand anyway, flown eagerly into her tiny fist, and Steve is giving her a look she can’t ignore. “Let the Hammer do the work,” he says. “We’re here with you.”

Natasha’s zipping up Jemma's jacket (the jacket May gave her) and Clint’s suddenly there slipping a black mask (“I had it made! I knew she’d need it!”) over her eyes like they’re playing fucking dress up and not asking her to fight a bunch of criminals, but she doesn’t have it in her to protest. Like she could really say no if the Avengers need help that she can (somehow, miraculously) provide.

Plus Mjölnir seems happy to see her. She thinks.

Anyway, that’s how it starts.

 

 

 

 

(“Keeping an eye on someone means _intervening_ when they do something stupid, _not_ encouraging,” May says dryly to Natasha.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”)

 

 

 

 

It feels good.

Well, it’s absolutely a panic situation for her, usually: a lot of chaos, a lot of loud noises and wounded people and quick decisions that she’s not sure if she can make. But in the heat of it, she realizes. She has lived through worse. She has been thrown into worse and walked away. The people she loves most in this world are safe, and her new friends are by her side, and she has the actual Hammer of Thor as her tool.

So she fights. Her decisions are fast enough. Her awareness is sharp. Her aim is steady. It’s not perfect by any means, but the day is saved.

She feels _good_.

 

 

 

 

“How did you people get up here?” Tony asks, somewhat jokingly, as Steve sets Jemma back down on the ground.

“ _Director Coulson’s young hacker is quite adept, although I tried to explain all they needed to do was ask_ ,” JARVIS says, somehow sounding a bit put out.

“Hacker?”

“Sup,” Skye says, appearing quickly in front of Tony.

“ _No_ ,” Coulson warns immediately. Skye stands down.

“Barton, Romanoff,” Coulson says. “You _implied_ you would be able to keep my agent out of trouble.”

“We did,” Nat says, shrugging. “She’s fine.”

“Besides, how do you say no to that face?” Clint says.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “For the record, _none_ of this was my idea.”

“When someone tries to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, you say _no_.”

“I did! You try saying no to the Avengers.”

“Phil, stop being such a dad. She’s fine.” Natasha is probably the only person in the world who can get away with saying this. Besides May, who says it frequently.

“A _dad_? Excuse me?” Coulson says, and he starts like he’s going to start a tirade, so Jemma slips over to Fitz quickly, kisses him soundly.

“I’m going to go prematurely gray, hero,” he murmurs. He says _hero_ in the same way a more serious person might say _lover_.

She smiles.

Skye leans over to them. “The Internet is in love with you already. I mean, they’re hungry for an identity, but I can hold them off. The mask was a nice touch.”

“Clint’s idea.” She lets go of Fitz to hug her tightly. “Are _you_ mad?”

“More jealous. We can talk about it later.”

Ward finds his way over. He’s got a stern face but he’s hesitant.

“That was dangerous, Simmons.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, and she waves her arms at him until he leans down so she can kiss his cheek.

Trip grabs her next and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Badass.”

And then she’s passed off to Bobbi, who squeezes her tight; and then Fitz is behind her and everyone’s circling around and moving in close, and they’re all holding each other; and it takes Jemma a long time to realize, in the center of all of these people, that the room has fallen silent.

Coulson seems to be near tears.

“Why don’t we all take a moment,” Steve says wisely. “We’ll get changed and get Thor taken care of.”

“Oh!” Jemma says. “Right. Can we take him to the lab please?”

The Hulk nods, and Jemma grabs Bruce’s clothes pre-emptively. She opens her hand and suddenly Mjölnir is there.

She looks over and Fitz is staring.

“Holy _shit_.”

 

 

 

 

(As the group is breaking up to retire for the night, May stops Jemma before she can get too far away, hand on her shoulder. She runs her thumb over a bruise that’s quickly forming over Jemma’s eye.

She struggles for a long moment to find words. “The jacket looks good,” is what May settles on.

Jemma hugs her tight.)

 

 

 

 

Thor wakes groggily, squinting into the light of the lab.

“Hi,” Jemma waves. “Would you like this back?”

She holds up Mjölnir, then places it in his open hand.

“What happened?”

“We’re not exactly sure,” Bruce says on his other side. “Something knocked you out in the fight, but Jemma saved you.”

“My deepest thanks, little princess.” And then he looks down to Mjölnir, interest overtaking his face. He looks back up at her. “Did you go into battle in my place?”

“Erm. Yes. A bit,” she says.

“And you believed you would not be needed so soon,” he says with a playful smile. “I’m sad to have missed it. I’m sure it was quite a sight to see.”

“Oh, I’m certain it’s been on the news already,” Bruce says. “That’s probably how Coulson and the others found out.”

“Philip is here? With your team?”

“Yes,” she responds. “They’d like to see you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Widely, Thor smiles.

 

 

 

 

(“Remind me to re-enact everyone’s reactions to seeing you kicking ass on the news,” Skye tells Jemma later. “All of them were fucking _priceless_.”)

 

 

 

 

“She’s _my_ agent.”

“I understand that,” Steve is saying as she, Thor, and Bruce return. “I just think she should decide for herself.”

“Two men talking about my career without me?” She jabs, moving to sit between Fitz and Skye on the couch opposite them. “Brilliant.”

“Hey, you know how I feel,” Steve says. “You know what the offer is. I’m just getting Coulson up to speed.”

There’s something like twenty pizza boxes in a disarray on the table, so she leans forward and takes a slice, hunger setting in after so much activity.

“I’m not really Avengers material, Steve,” she remarks. “I’m just a person. …Not that you all aren’t people! That’s not. What. I’m saying. But, _I_ haven’t done anything remarkable enough to—”

“Stop. Wait,” Natasha says. “Didn’t you tell me jumped on top of a grenade?”

“Oh, well—”

“Because Cap did that.”

“You also shot a HYDRA agent,” Clint says.

“I didn’t _know_ that Sitwell was HYDRA at the time—”

“You also pulled your unconscious friend up from the bottom of the ocean on a single breath of oxygen and saved his life,” Steve says quietly. It seems he’s intent on being gentle with her too.

She peeks at Fitz’s face.

“Also, didn’t you jump out of a plane without a parachute?” Tony says.

“Um. _How_ do you know all of these things?” Jemma says.

“You get chatty when you’re drunk,” Clint says. She frowns.

“Oh, dear god,” Coulson says, head in hands. “You know, when they say all of those things in succession like that it makes me want to get you a child leash.”

“Don’t forget the part where she went undercover in HYDRA without any espionage training,” Bobbi pipes up, entering the room after retrieving Maria. “Hey, Nat.”

“Hey, Bobbi.”

“What about me?”

“ _Hey_ , Clint.”

“Hey.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jemma mutters.

“It’s really not,” Skye says. “You’re total hero material.”

“I’m not, I’m just trying to help!”

“Oh, god,” Natasha says, grinning at her. “You may have the power of Thor but you are Steve, through and through.”

“And what does that mean?” Steve asks her.

“Just look at her face!”

“Is that supposed to be a complete answer, Widow?”

“She does possess your charms, Captain,” Thor says, sitting down on the floor by Jemma's knees.

“And your borderline-ridiculous sense of self-sacrifice,” Phil says.

“And your love of _civic duty_ ,” Tony says, although he's poking fun.

“And your filthy sense of humor,” Clint says, smirking.

The Captain is looking fairly bashful. Jemma just looks amused, because she doesn't believe a word of it.

“So you're saying I have a mini-me,” Steve says.

“No matter that it doesn't make a shred of sense,” Jemma says. “Strapping American icon of masculinity and bravery and goodness, against me: tiny English scientist girl.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Actually, it kind of makes a lot of sense.” And he smiles.

 

 

 

 

(“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Steve says, as he comes across Jemma and Fitz holding hands in the lab.

“Captain Steve Rogers, meet Agent Leo Fitz.”

“Captain,” Fitz greets, shaking his hand.

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Steve. You have quite a broad chest.”

“Doesn't he?” Jemma jumps in. “It's incredible.”

“Oh. Um.” He diverts the conversation: “How long have you two...?”

“Oh, we've known each other since the Academy. About fifteen years.”

“I think he means the other one,” Fitz says.

“Oh! Two years.”

“Should I do that whole thing?” Steve says, and he's looking at the ground and then up at her.

“What thing?”

“The _if you hurt her I'll be very upset_ thing,” he says. He's kind of mumbling it.

 _I'll be very upset._ Goodness, what a prince.

“You're the one who asked her to go into battle,” Fitz says matter-of-factly. And Steve laughs loudly. And Jemma smiles.)

 

 

 

 

“So,” Skye says over her beer. “Does anyone want to explain the hammer thing? I thought only Thor could pick it up.”

“Your friend – our friend – has been accepted by Mjölnir as worthy.”

“So it's a magic hammer.”

“It's not magic,” Jemma says automatically.

“Not this again,” Clint says.

“It's not magic! There's no such thing.”

“Girly, you can't tell me the things you've seen in the last five years don't make you believe in magic.”

“How sentimental.”

“It's not sentimental! I'm just taking things as they are.”

“What they are is _perfectly explainable by science_. This is just something we don't have an answer for yet.”

“Worry not, Jemma,” Thor says. “My Jane reacted much in the same way you are when she visited Asgard. She left satisfied by her own reason.”

“See?” She turns to Clint. “Not magic.”

“But how does it decide if you're worthy, then?” Skye asks.

“It looks into your heart,” Thor says. “It understands your being in a way most cannot comprehend. Bravery, loyalty, goodness, kindness. Many qualities, I imagine. So as the Lady grasped the Hammer, it looked into her heart. And Mjölnir decided: Jemma Simmons is worthy.”

There's a moment of silence after that.

And then May speaks: “Well, I could've told you that.”

If Natasha's laughing – and she's definitely not – it's at the look of pure pleasure that overtakes Jemma's face.

May sips her drink.

 

 

 

 

(“Hey, kid,” Tony says. Fitz looks up. “Wanna try on the suit?”

Before he can speak, a chorus: “ _NO._ ”)

 

 

 

 

“Just call me next time Thor wants to take a vacation,” Jemma grins.

“You'll be our reserve team?” Steve says.

“Until you find a real one.”

“You're as real as we need, Jemma.”

Steve kisses her cheek.

Bruce squeezes her hands, and stays quiet. Tony shakes them and grows loud.

Clint ruffles a hand through her hair and calls her pipsqueak, because what else is he supposed to do? It's weird, but it works for them.

Thor, who actually has Fitz on his shoulders, because sure why not, lets him down and picks Jemma up, hugging her tightly and wishing her a safe journey.

“You'll keep an eye on them, right?” Jemma asks.

“I always do,” Natasha says. “I think I'm getting better at it.”

“And yourself?”

She gives her a nod and a smile.

And Jemma settles her heart to return to the ground.

 

 

 

 

(“Oh, good, you lot are back.” Lance says. He’s whining. “Glad you’re alright, sweetheart,” he says to Jemma, “But why precisely weren’t we invited along?”

“Stark is very particular about who gets to come into his tower,” Coulson says, playful passivity suffusing his voice.

“He hosted the Destiny’s Child reunion concert. Kelly and Michelle are good enough for Stark Tower, but a high-ranking SHIELD agent isn’t?”

“You know we don’t have rankings anymore, Lance, and you wouldn’t be that high up if we did.”

“That’s just rude. I feel excluded. So does Mack. Mack, don’t you—”

Mack’s hugging Jemma hello.

Lance sighs. “Fine! Did anyone bring me a souvenir at least? Anyone?”)

 


End file.
